


In Pursuit of Forgiveness

by ThreeHeads4Paws



Category: The Witcher, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Gen, I would like to apologise, I'll update tags as I go, Mentions of blood and wounds, but I can't, sorry not sorry etc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeHeads4Paws/pseuds/ThreeHeads4Paws
Summary: In the end, Geralt was only half right.In the end, it wasn’t his reflexes that failed him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	In Pursuit of Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Witcher fic and I'm still learning about the lore so bear with me! 
> 
> I'm also sorry (but not really)

In the end, Geralt was only half right. 

In the end, it wasn’t his reflexes that failed him.

It could simply be called Fate; the split second as he parried then pirouetted away from the raging beast that gave it the chance at his bare throat.

He didn’t fall but felt the too-deep cut and the red river that poured out of him, down his chest and soaked into his shirt. With one last ounce of adrenaline the White Wolf thrust his silver sword up and into the monster’s brain. The sound of gurgled breath and the thud of a heavy body echoed in the dense woodland surrounding the clearing.

It was the cue for the bard to return to his witcher. 

’Geralt? Is it dead?’ 

Jaskier cautiously approached the silent battle scene through the trees, his hand guiding the reins of a chestnut mare behind him. 

‘Geralt?’ 

He heard a breathy gasp from his right and rounded a pine to find the witcher braced against the roots of a tree,  
desperately clinging to the gaping wound in his neck. 

‘Geralt... no....’ 

Abandoning the reins, he thrust himself forward to his knees in front of the tree and immediately into the satchel he had hoisted over his shoulder, ready to return it when the job was done. He started rifling through, various glass bottles and vials clinking together. 

‘I’m gonna pull some out and you’re to tell me which one you need, okay?’ 

He piled a handful of coloured potions onto the forest floor. 

A bloodied hand moved over his, pulling his attention away. Jaskier glanced up to the owner of the hand to meet piercing yellow eyes. They stared unusually softly for a moment before Geralt slowly shook his head. The bard’s eyes became cloudy and he heaved out a breath, on it a small sound. 

’...no...’

The witcher beckoned him closer, his breathing slowly growing wetter and more ragged as he kept his right hand still clasped around his neck, though whether it was more to try to slow down the bleeding or to protect his bard from the sight of his final wound it wasn’t clear. Jaskier complied with his request, coming to kneel at his left shoulder. Geralt wiped his left hand on the sparse grass beside him and then grasped the bard’s wrist, before he was directed between his two string-calloused hands instead. He squeezed to bring the cornflower blue back up to his eyes.  
With some effort he managed to half mouth-half whisper. 

’Jas-kier...th...thank you...’ 

The effort made him wheeze and gurgle unpleasantly. Jaskier seized control of his breathing and the unfallen tears. 

‘What for, Geralt?’ His brow creased at the question and he forced a soft expression. Geralt broke into a rare, small smile. 

‘For being my friend.’ 

Jaskier’s whole body began to quake as he struggled to maintain eye contact, despite not wanting to look away for a second. 

‘Thank you for being mine.’ 

There was a soft whinny from beside them as Roach approached, ears flickering. Jaskier pulled her forward by the bridle so her nose could be placed in Geralt’s hand. He smiled fondly at his loyal horse, gently rubbing her snout as no words really needed to be said. 

‘Look after him for me,’ he whispered, not necassarily for the horse’s ears. 

She stayed by his side as Geralt’s hand returned to Jaskier. His breathing was growing wetter by the second, blood bubbling on the edges of his lips in stark contrast to his pale skin, but still they kept their eyes on each other. Finally, when Geralt was bringing up more blood than he was air, Jaskier gripped his rough hand and stared into his eyes. 

‘It’s ok, I’ve got you.’ 

The White Wolf still held on, his eyes begging. Jaskier willed himself into a watery grin. 

‘I’ll be ok.’ 

The witcher sighed and relaxed. The bard crawled closer until they had pressed their foreheads together, Jaskier’s palm gentle on the nape of Geralt’s neck, one last wordless conversation. He leaned back and watched as the cat-like yellow eyes closed, the hand at his neck became limp and when the breaths became slight he curled himself around the witcher’s white hair, his cheek against his head, and lay a hand on the heavy chest. 

The already unnaturally slow heart stuttered under his palm... 

a slow beat.... 

a slow beat....

a slow beat.... 

When there was nothing left to be felt Jaskier lifted his hand and released Geralt’s from his grip. He placed it, along with the other to rest on his chest. He huffed a strong, mournful sigh before moving away. Lifting himself from the ground he collected the bottles back into the leather satchel, busied himself with attaching it onto Roach’s saddle and only then did he look back at his closest friend. Anyone passing would assume the witcher was merely sleeping, apart from the dark red soaking his clothing and skin. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to give his witcher a proper burial he promised to do what he could to allow for an appropriate send off. Gently, with as much strength as he could manage, he pulled Geralt’s body into a nearby patch of long green grass, the lightest part of the surrounding forest. From there he set about his small quest. For the next few hours he scoured the woodland for wild flowers, choosing only the brightest and most worthy of the White Wolf. When he had his crop he returned to Geralt, the realisation that he was gone hitting his chest as he saw him lying on the hard ground. He carefully arranged his hands on his armour, using damp leaves to wipe off the dried blood, then used the same practice on his neck, steadying his shaking hands as the tension against the skin showed him just how his witcher died. When he was satisfied he placed the flowers he had collected, a rainbow of posies, one by one, around the collar until there was a light blanket around Geralt’s neck. He then took the last two delicate blooms and lay them, crossed, on the chest of black armour, just above his peaceful hands, replacing the silver medallion that used to live there which now hung around Jaskier’s neck, heavy and hidden under his shirt.  
Throughout his ritual he did not make a sound, nor did Roach who watched the proceeding with silent dignity. He didn’t shed a tear, nor wail towards the gods. When he was done he simply sighed softly. Took one last look at his friend, said a few words and made a few promises in his head, then turned and collected the pair of swords in their straps that he had put aside earlier and strapped them to Roach before leading her away, out of the woods and towards the road.  
Behind him the air remained still and nothing was disturbed, only a light breeze pushed through the trees and fluttered the delicate petals of the buttercup and lily of the valley that lay in a cross on the black, studded leather. 

They walked on for miles, not a sound between them. The bard left his lute secured to the saddle, as it had been when all had been well. There were only the noises of nature around them and Roach’s shoes pressing into the dirt path. Jaskier stared at the ground, creases permeating his brow. His mind waited for the growl; the comment in jest about how wrinkles had already started forming, no need to help them along.  
His heart lurched as he remembered.  
They stopped only briefly to drink from a fresh stream then continued on, footsteps in an aimless direction before Jaskier was forced to set up camp off the roadside as the sky began to darken; the mare nibbled at the grass as he nibbled some bread and dried meat they had rationed from the last town, then shared a sweet apple. He looked into the heart of the fire he had started, always his job, and felt nothing but numbness across his body. He stayed numb as he lay down to sleep, though it didn’t come, his meagre rest resulting from short bursts of exhaustion to the point of unconciousness. 

The next morning, when the sun was well up in the sky they set off again, down the dirt path to nowhere in particular.  
A few miles in Roach came to a sudden halt. Jaskier tried to coax her into continuing on their journey but the mare refused to budge with a nicker. He loosened her reins so she could go pick at the grass on the side of the road in the cool daylight but still she did not move. When the bard moved towards her, ready to check for any visible cuts or stones sticking into her shoes, she waited until he was in reach then took his shirt sleeve in her mouth and tugged. Jaskier exclaimed, his first sound in hours, and tried to release her grip but his grief made him weak. Roach pulled harder and as he jerked along with her she turned her head around to her side so he landed on his feet next to the saddle. Only then did she let go and turn forwards again. Jaskier looked at the horse’s saddle, to her face, then back to the saddle before grasping it with both hands and hoisting himself upwards. As soon as he was sat sturdily and had his feet tucked in the stirrups Roach resumed her walk. He clung to the reins despite not really requiring them to march on, hoping to drive some feeling into his numb body if he pressed the hard leather into his palms. As unwelcome thoughts pushed their way into his head his mind conjured an image. There was a prickle down his back as it straightened with sudden intent. He gripped the reins, properly now, and urged Roach into a trot.  
They turned at the next crossroads towards the nearest town as Jaskier realised where he needed to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> *** Toss a comment to your writer ***


End file.
